


all you have is your fire (and the place you need to reach)

by serenitysea



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Emotions, F/M, Romance, Running Away, Some Humor, season one rewrite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 05:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3315431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenitysea/pseuds/serenitysea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As it turns out, Skye is bit of a wildcard. Sometimes she disappears after dinner and there is a haunted look in her eyes when she returns to them. And Ward wants to know what she's doing, so he decides to investigate. Somehow he gets tasked with keeping her <i>alive</i>.</p><p>or:</p><p> </p><p>  <i>the one where season one gets thrown into a blender and we all go on one <b>hell</b> of a ride.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	all you have is your fire (and the place you need to reach)

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY SO THIS WAS A LABOR OF EXTREME EFFORT ON MY BEHALF. 
> 
> i'm not throwing any warnings in and there are a few things i didn't tag (not triggers or anything, as far as i know) because it will spoil you guys. also this was more of an _experiment_ than anything so i'm curious to know if it worked.

* * *

 

 

 _i thought it ended_  
_when i knew love's perfect ache_  
_but my peace has always depended_  
_on all the ashes in our wake_  
  
 

* * *

  
  
As it turns out, Skye is bit of a wildcard.  
  
When Coulson first brought her aboard as a consultant, everything seemed fairly status quo. They had a few missions and May encouraged him to train Skye, to take her on as a student and teach her some discipline and also give her some focus all that energy. Despite her vehement protestation, Skye is turning out to be a pretty decent student. Her coordination needs work and her stamina could be better — especially given her age — but she's a quick study and he rarely needs to outline the general idea for her more than once.  
  
But sometimes she disappears after dinner and there is a haunted look in her eyes when she returns to them. She typically has the appearance of someone who has been kicked one too many times and still gets up to fight, even when the odds are stacked high against her. (Except for those times when she goes into her bunk without a word.)  
  
And Ward wants to know what she's doing, so he decides to investigate.  
  
  
  
  
  
Skye openly states her alliances are with the Rising Tide (and everyone seems inclined to believe her) but then Ward discovers a lethal gun tucked in between her black bras and silk underwear. Neither of which fit the profile of drifter hacker girl whose alliances are flexible.  
  
He lifts the gun and intends to bring it to Coulson, to prove that his gut instinct about the girl had been wrong — but there are shots fired and when the dust settles, Fitz and Simmons are dead, along with six men in black armor.  
  
He runs into her in the hallway. Skye looks up with horror painted in her eyes and something does not jive with her story ( _either_ of her stories; not the drifter hacker girl, and certainly not the girl who keeps a gun with a silencer nestled in among her undergarments) but he does not have the time or luxury of sorting it out now.  
  
Not now, when there is blood pooling on the floor int he lab and the tang of death in the air.  
  
"We have go to," she says, staring in shock at the bodies littered on the ground.  
  
Ward distantly remembers that Coulson and May are still out in the field. This was an ambush.  
  
He takes another second to ensure that they can leave without being followed or compromised. "We have to go," he agrees, and tells himself that even though Fitzsimmons deserved so much better than whatever life SHIELD had to offer them they died believing in their cause.  
  
(At least, this is what he hopes.)  
  
  
  
  
  
Skye didn't _mean_ to get them killed.  
  
She had just forwarded information, like usual, the way she was supposed to. No one ever told her what they did with it, or why it was important she retrieve certain data packets but leave behind others. She didn't question who or where her orders came from. She just worked.  
  
So she never meant for them to be killed.  
  
But once they were dead, the entire world was after her. (Or so it seemed.)  
  
And somehow Ward got tasked with keeping her alive.  
  
  
  
  
  
They are running (because they're always running now) and she has lost count of how many times Ward has had to grab her hand to keep her on course. She's _exhausted_.  
  
She needs to check in and find out what the next retrieval is for — it's always something inconsequential and low-level security that she can blow though in a matter of minutes — or else they'll stop giving her access to what she needs, why she's doing all of this in the first place. (And there are things that she desperately wants to know.)  
  
Ward is the type to go for hours without conversation but it is slowly driving her crazy. She consciously inserts herself back into the moment and tries to guess where they are.  
  
"Where are we going?" Her voice is rusty from lack of use and she has to clear her throat to form the words properly.  
  
"Somewhere I can figure out a plan," he mutters grimly, and his eyes are constantly scanning the horizon, the way they have been since they'd left the Bus behind thousands of miles ago.  
  
Skye wonders if he's tired of having to be so vigilant. If it is really fair to be dragging him into this fight.  
  
If she should have just run — she's so good at running and it probably would have been easier to have disappeared — and left him behind. She could have become a ghost until all of this settled down. Then she thinks about all the blood in the lab and the last time she heard Fitz asking for a monkey and Simmons trying to explain something about Science, talking a million words a minute.  
  
This is her cross to bear.  
  
Since Ward doesn't seem inclined to share any more details, she keeps her head down and does her best to keep up. He's had them running like the devil himself was after them and shows no signs of slowing down now.  
  
  
  
  
  
The cabin is somewhere in the woods (honestly she had fallen asleep after the first hour of driving and woken up in the damn _wilderness_ ) like something out of a storybook. It sits proud and steady, with a thick grove of trees sheltering it from view. There is no path to speak of, so if you weren't sure what you were looking for, there would be almost no way to find it.  
  
Ward stops abruptly just shy of the door and yanks her behind him almost harshly when she moves to keep going. The business end of a rifle comes out of a window around the side and it is only Ward's quick thinking that saves them, dropping to the ground and pulling her down with him.  
  
From where she lays utterly flattened beneath him, Skye has the opportunity to study the the depths of his eyes in a way she never has before. They are alert like he is; constantly evaluating and assessing, growing warm with anticipation or cold at the possibility of a threat. (She wants to know what they look like when he is relaxed; do they heat like molten gold when he's happy or — this is _not_ a line of thought she needs to be pursuing. She needs to get _laid_. That's all this is.)  
  
He cautiously lifts away, keeping her shielded as the front door finally opens, revealing an older man with a somewhat amused look on his face.  
  
"Couldn't wait until you got her inside?"  
  
Skye is delighted to see the slight red flush on Ward's neck and ears. She has a feeling that she's going to like this guy just fine.  
  
  
  
  
  
Ward introduces his former SO to Skye and she realizes (without so many words) that John Garrett is the closest thing he has to a father.  
  
Which makes her heart clench awfully tight, because she understands the act of coming _home_ and being with your family when nothing is making sense. (It's what she's fighting for, after all.) Skye understands now that their being here is somewhat of a last ditch effort, that Ward is strangely at a loss for action and that getting John ( _Garrett_ , he'd said to call him Garrett) involved was putting his life at risk, too.  
  
Ward makes sure she gets settled in the spare bedroom with minimal fuss and doesn't even blink when she has to tug on one of his henleys to sleep in. (That's when she knows something else is afoot.) He gives her a water bottle and instructs her to drink at least half before closing her eyes, citing dehydration as a very real concern. She downs all of it under his watchful gaze and drifts off to a dreamless sleep.  
  
  
  
  
  
Once Skye has fallen asleep (and he's checked on her several times to be sure she isn't faking), he pulls out a map while Garrett reaches for the scotch and tips out two generous amounts. It's part of their routine, so Ward doesn't decline even though he feels like his head is already fuzzy from trying to keep all the details straight.  
  
"Well you're here, so I know it's not good. What's got you so worried?" Garrett can read the anxiety coming off him despite the fact that he hasn't so much as fidgeted since they'd walked in the door. "Is it the girl? She get under your skin?"  
  
"Something isn't right," Ward reaches for his pack, gingerly extracting the gun he'd found in Skye's bunk.  
  
Garrett whistles softly. "That's a serious piece of business. Hers?"  
  
He nods. "Or someone else wanted us to think that it was."  
  
"How bad are we talking? Vienna bad or… _Russia_?"  
  
Ward thinks about the scene on the Bus and how they never even knew they were coming. "Russia."  
  
" _Shit_." Garrett stares into his scotch, gives it a lazy swirl before tossing it back. "Guess we'd better get to work."  
  
  
  
  
  
Ward is gone when she gets up the next morning.  
  
It's a little unsettling to have been left behind, but she knows he trusts Garrett implicitly and tries to overwrite that knowledge the way she would a particularly tricky piece of code. It doesn't hurt that Garrett is already seated at the kitchen table and barely gives her more than a nod in greeting, consumed as he is with the paperwork and laptop in front of him.  
  
"Coffee's hot," he flips through a couple pages in rapid succession, making a few notations. "There's milk and a fresh loaf of bread on the counter. Jam's in the cupboard." Skye doesn't move until he absently glances up, giving her a brief smile. "Ward will be back in a bit. He just went to get supplies."  
  
It feels like something inside her eases and, thus soothed, she sets about making her coffee and preparing a slice of toast.  
  
When she turns around Garrett has a gun trained on her heart.  
  
The coffee and toast fall out of her hands, ceramics shattering to pieces on the ground. Her heartbeat is roaring so loudly that it takes a few moments to realize that Garret is speaking to her. She tunes in just in time to hear his question.  
  
"— Not something you find yourself on the other end of frequently, is that right?"  
   
Skye makes a concerted effort to focus on swallowing the bile that has come up and tries to remain calm. "I don't know what you think is going on here, but —"  
  
The front door opens, and Ward takes in the scene in seconds.  
  
" _John_." There is something in his voice she has never heard before and, judging by the look on Garrett's face, he hasn't either. "Put it down."  
  
Garrett rolls his eyes as if the entire thing has been one giant misunderstanding and thumbs the safety back into position. "She's clean," he says, returning his attention to the papers in front of him.    
  
The air comes whooshing back into her lungs like she has just surfaced from a long dive, and it takes a second to penetrate the fog of confusion. "You thought _I_ was the leak?"  
  
Because they've obviously discussed this while she was asleep and it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that somewhere along the line, communications had been seriously compromised. They hadn't stood a chance back on the Bus — not with Coulson and May gone. The timing had been a little _too_ perfect.  
  
"Ward found this in your bunk. Fitz and Simmons are dead." The calculating look in Garrett's eyes makes her never want to be on his bad side again. "What would you have thought?"  
  
When she doesn't immediately deny all prior awareness of the gun and its origins, the tension in the room seems to ratchet up several notches.  
  
Ward is staring at her with an unreadable expression, probably waiting for her to deny all knowledge of the professional looking weapon next to Garrett's coffee. "Skye," his voice is quiet but firm, "you're going to want to tell the truth."  
  
There is a weird, hiccuping gasp that bubbles up from her throat and she has to fumble for something solid to grab hold of. The closest thing winds up being another chair at the table and she squeezes it so hard that her knuckles turn white from the pressure.  
  
"Gonna 'fess up or do we need to try this again?" Garrett drawls from his seat, head tipped to the side with obvious interest.  
  
"I —" She closes her eyes and desperately tries to focus, trying to think of anything but the weapon in question and the noises made the last time she heard a gun like that go off. "It was given to me."  
  
Ward exhales forcibly, looking ashen. Garrett pushes back from the table, likely to ensure that the exits are covered. (She knows that much from what Ward has been trying to teach her.)  
  
"It wasn't clear how much danger I would be in and so it was meant as a protection. I promise."  
  
"Who gave it to you?"  
  
"I can't tell you that."  
  
Garrett skeptically raises his eyebrows (she guesses this is not a response he is used to hearing) and Ward clenches his jaw spasmodically.  
  
" _Skye_."  
  
She throws her hands up in the air and tries not to let the desperation bleed into her voice. "I don't _know_ , okay? It was with my things just after I came on the Bus. There were strict instructions to hide it until further notice or it was necessary to defend myself."  
  
"The training we've been doing, reloading and aiming a gun. You already know how to do that?" The tonelessness in Ward's voice tells her that this is probably not the best time to crack jokes. She feels a hollow start low in her stomach, knowing that she is behind his change in behavior. (It isn't fair, but she wants the guy back who was willing to run with her and look at her like partner instead of a criminal. Maybe it hadn't lasted for more than a few minutes, but those minutes _counted_ and now she'll never know what it would have been like in a more permanent arrangement.)  
  
"No." Skye tucks her shaking hands into her pockets. "I didn't." At his unconvinced look, she pleads, "I _swear_."  
  
They lock eyes and she is unwilling to back down, even knowing that it doesn't exactly plead her innocence by doing so. She doesn't want to give him the satisfaction of winning this, not when everything else in her life has been turned upside down.  
  
"I believe her," Garrett interjects, standing up to relieve Ward of the bags still clutched tightly in his hands. Ward looks utterly bewildered when the bags are gone and can do nothing more than stare at her with accusations burning brightly in his eyes.  
  
She doesn't want to speak and risk upsetting the very fragile stalemate that has been called, however temporarily.  
  
"This isn't over," Ward finally says, moving to help Garrett unload the supplies.  
  
Skye lets out a broken gasp of relief and basically falls into the chair. A plate is set in front of her, followed by a strong thump to her back that gets the air moving back into her lungs.  
  
"Eat up." Garrett suggests, and they both know he is not really making a suggestion at all.  
  
  
  
  
  
"I still don't understand how they knew where we were. May doesn't file her flight plans with the Hub. No one should have had our coordinates." Ward is examining the information from every possible angle and he hasn't been able to find a solution. The frustration he feels is almost palpable and Garrett has been unusually quiet. "Something doesn't add up."  
  
Skye thinks about the last bit of information she sent and how she is careful to always cover her tracks. There is no one who can unscramble her code; it's a bit of a trademark for her, quite honestly. She sends the data as requested, drops it in one of three secured servers depending on the sensitivity of the material and it gets retrieved within the hour. She knows when it does, because she's always built a back door into the drop just in case she needs to retrieve it later on.  
  
Ward and Garrett start discussing something else in low tones over by the window and she stares out the window in contemplation, considering the facts of what they know and how things had gone down. He's right. No one should have known. No one could have known, unless —  
  
— _Oh god_.  
  
"Ward," and there is something terrifyingly scared in her voice that stops him where he stands. "I think this is my fault."  
  
"Let's give her a gold star," Garrett says sarcastically, and she can't even dredge up the irritation to wipe the smug satisfaction off his face because he's _right_. He's right and he probably came to this conclusion hours ago.  
  
"Don't be ridiculous," and Ward sounds irritated that he even has to bother reassuring her of the fact, like it is such an absurd thing for him to have to defend at all.  "You don't have the resources to mount this kind of attack."  
  
"I don't," Skye says, and it gives her no pleasure to be in agreement with him because it feels like her stomach just dropped into her feet. "But I think the people I work for _do_."  
  
Naturally that is when bullets start screaming into the cabin and everything is blown to hell.  
  
  
  
  
  
It certainly isn't the first time they've been under attack in such closer quarters, but does stand out as being unique in that they've found John's sanctuary after being successfully off the grid for so long. If Ward didn't believe what Skye was saying before — he is forced to start believing it now. He vows that as soon as this firefight is over, they are going to have a _serious_ discussion about just who _exactly_ she is "consulting" for. Because it sure as hell isn't SHIELD — or at least, not _just_ SHIELD — and he no longer gives a damn about Coulson's warning that her involvement remain within the shadows. He wants answers.  
  
"Is there anything here you don't want them to get their hands on?" Garrett yells, sending back return fire to cover Ward so that he can slide over to where Skye is huddled against the cabinets in the kitchen. Ward puts a sheltering arm around her and meets Garrett's eyes squarely and the other man nods in understanding.  
  
The front door is blasted apart and four men storm in, looking identical to the team that had taken the Bus.  
  
"Ward." Skye is gripping his arm urgently, as if there were some possible way he could have missed that crucial detail.  
  
"I know," he says, firmly pushing her behind him. "Just — follow my orders. I'll get us out of here."  
  
She nods and narrows her focus to the sound of his voice.  
  
What happens next is kind of a blur.  
  
When he tells her to move, she moves. When he holds a hand for her to stop, she stops. She doesn't ask questions. She doesn't react. She just keeps her head down and does whatever he says. When he opens up a door from a wall looking otherwise seamless in design, and tells her to stay hidden until he comes to get her, she ducks inside.  
  
(She doesn't tell him how much she hates the dark.)  
  
  
  
  
  
It doesn't take much for him to finish off the rest of the tactical team that had been sent to kill them. He's one of the best, although it doesn't give him much pride to state that now. Just when he thinks they are all gone, there is the warning echo of a trigger being released and Ward tells himself not to flinch when he hears the shot go off.  
  
The now-dead opponent thuds to the ground with a weapon still clutched in hand and Ward curses himself for being sloppy even as he tracks the path of the bullet that saved his life.  
  
It takes a few seconds until he finds John slumped over behind the couch.  
  
"Son," Garrett is breathing heavily and struggling to sit up. "It was always ever going to be her or me. Don't waste it."  
  
"John, _don't_ —"  
  
John Garrett dies in front of him and there is absolutely nothing Ward can do about it.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
His thoughts are scattered.  
  
They can't use any kind of electronic currency because it will create a trail. They are down to six bullets between three separate guns and Skye still can't shoot worth a damn. It's been a little over two hours since they left the cabin and all he knows is that they're heading east.  
  
Ward has bolt holes and caches all over the country but right now they're stuck in the middle of nowhere, total wilderness USA and the sun is going down. It's going to get cold and they have no shelter to speak of — and then there's the whole _wildlife_ element he hasn't even fully considered.  
  
(Because it feels like his entire life was just destroyed. John is gone. _Dead_. He doesn't have a plan for this contingency; there was no strategy they'd discussed that had accounted for this variable. How does he continue without John?)  
  
"Hey." Skye fumbles for his hand, tugging insistently. "C'mon, looks like there's a cave or something over there. We can probably crash there for the night."  
  
He doesn't know when she took point on this but he doesn't have the will to fight. He stands passively while she scopes out the tiny cave (more like a slight curve on the side of a huge rock formation) and lets her pull the pack off his shoulders. He comes aware just enough to prevent her from starting a small fire (as much as the warmth would be nice and keep away any animals, it would also alert any operatives with night vision) and falls into a blank sleep with Skye leaned against his shoulder for warmth.  
  
  
  
  
  
Waking up is a lot like having a building collapse on his head.  
  
The sharp pang of John's loss is gone, having crystallized into something sharp and bright that he can use as fuel. He allows it to coat the edges of his thoughts as he works efficiently to compartmentalize them into neat little boxes where they will remain for quite some time. Right now they need to get out of this godforsaken wilderness and regroup.  
  
He takes a minute to mentally shuffle through the closest safe houses he and John (who would have wanted it that way) have and discards all but one that is both remote and inaccessible at certain times of the day due to the tides. It is the complete opposite direction that they've been traveling, but that offers the added bonus of throwing off whoever is on the hunt for them.  
  
He won't let John's death be in vain.  
  
"Skye." He grips her shoulder firmly.  
  
She inhales sharply and blinks repeatedly until he sees the awareness flicker in her eyes. "Listen, about yesterday —"  
  
"Not here." Now certain that she is firmly in the realm of consciousness, he picks up the bag and nods to the great beyond. "We have to go."  
  
"This is getting to be a bad habit of ours," Skye mumbles, scrambling to her feet and dutifully trudging after him.  
  
  
  
  
  
It takes the better part of the day to clear the dense rough of the forest and find a hiking trail. They blend in by joining a larger group finishing up their hike and Ward begins commiserating with an athletic man around his age. Said athlete is traveling with his wife and Ward somehow charms their way into hitching a ride back west.  
  
"So you lost that bet, huh?"  
  
"Yeah," Ward answers, and the rueful smile doesn't reach his eyes.  
  
(Skye wonders how no one else sees it.)  
  
"We can take you as far as Sacramento."  
  
"You're too kind," Skye chimes in, flashing a grin at the wife, who she then engages in deep conversation about the place to get a decent manicure for the best price.  
  
When Ward puts his hand on the small of her back it feels like a warning as much as it does a silent sign of approval. It takes everything she has to think of the polish trends for the seasons and what a manicure actually involves (because she hasn't had one in ages) when everything in her is still freaking out about yesterday and the horrible series of events that has set them on this runaway path, yet again.  
  
  
  
  
  
They hot wire a nondescript car that Ward insists on driving. It's another three hours to get to Monterey and Skye tries so hard to stay awake but the repetitive highway sounds lull her to sleep and she's out within twenty minutes.  
  
Ward breathes a sigh of relief and doesn't feel like he has to hold onto the leash around his anger as tightly. Despite not having complained and being able to think on her feet and bond with the wife in the car, there are still facts about Skye that don't add up. He needs a few hours with a computer and access to John's files on the Rising Tide to see what else she's hiding. After they get to the safe house, all bets are off.  
  
And he really wants to know what his father died for.  
  
  
  
  
  
The house is set into the cliffs and is not visible from the outside. She doesn't remember getting out of the car or seeing an entrance so she imagines Ward carried her into the living room and deposited her on the couch. The sound of running water can be heard in the distance and she realizes she can't remember the last time she took a shower.  
  
A house of this size has to have another bathroom _somewhere_ and she goes on the hunt to find one. After washing off what feels like four layers of caked on mud and dust, Skye exits the bathroom to find another one of Ward's henleys and a pair of black track pants on the bed. She has to roll the pants at the waist twice just to keep from tripping on the hem and uses her hair tie to cordon off the extra fabric so they don't fall down below her hips.  
  
She makes her way back into the kitchen and can't help but gasp at the view. Skye knows they aren't here for ambiance but she can't help the sigh of pleasure that escapes her.  
  
The sound seems to drag Ward out of his adrenalin-fueled state and the look he fixes her with is positively lethal.  
  
"Start _talking_."  
  
  
  
  
  
They've been going around in circles for over an hour. Though there are dark smudges underneath his eyes, Ward shows no signs of letting up the unofficial interrogation and almost seems to glow with triumph when she wearily slumps into a chair.  
  
"Look, I don't know what else you want me to say. All I had to do was pass along some low level intel. I took the job because they told me I could find out more about my parents. You _know_ how important that is to me.  I'm not lying."  
  
It's still the Rising Tide and her story checks out because she'd thoroughly investigated it before agreeing to the terms. Ordinarily she would say that the Hacktivist group wasn't capable of arranging such acts of violence but she also knows that the people at the top had a history of making deals with some very unsavory organizations. She's almost positive that they either tried to double cross such a group or else they don't know who they're really in bed with and she's been trying to tell Ward as much for the past twenty minutes.  
  
Ward folds his arms and straightens to his full height. "Coulson said you were one of the best. You must have been careful, covered your tracks."  
  
"Yes. And _that's_ how they found me."  
  
"You're not making _any_ _sense_." Ward is beyond finished with the conversation and sounds like he would cheerfully drop her out a window, given the opportunity.  
  
"Just — It's like a…" She gropes for the words to try and put it into an analogy. "Reverse hide and go seek. Wherever I'm _not_ is how they know where to find me."  
  
"Okay." He pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales forcefully. "Where is your phone now?"  
  
"It ran out of batteries when we were in the middle of nowhere. I'm supposed to check in and find out what's next but —"  
  
"— _Don't_." Ward looks ready to drop. "Leave the phone off until we figure out another way to approach this."  
  
"If I don't check in, they're going to send out a search party." She tries to play it off like it's a joke but they both know there's a grim amount of truth her statement.  
  
"They already have." He opens up a laptop she hadn't noticed and beckons her over to read the headlines. _Man found dead in isolated cabin. Foul play suspected._  
  
"Listen, about Garrett —"  
  
He closes the laptop and seems to be in the process of completely shutting down from her. "It's not up for discussion."  
  
"Ward, c'mon. I feel awful. You need to talk to someone about this."  
  
"You should feel awful." His eyes are hard and mean. "John's dead because you were _careless_. So believe me when I say that the absolute _last_ thing we're _ever_ going to do is discuss it."  
  
Skye feels like the air has been sucked out of the room. Because even though it isn't anything she hasn't already told herself while they were hiking through the forest or she while sitting in that car, feeling totally removed from her body — it still takes a second or two for her to recover. "Fine. But it's not healthy for you to keep that kind of pain locked up."  
  
The anger that has etched harsh lines into his face and grief that is apparent in the way he moves with deliberation slowly fades until he stands in front of her, composed and blank of all expression. If she hadn't seen it from him before she would have never known that he'd been affected like this. "Go to bed, Skye."  
  
And it is nothing like the way he used to sound after she'd complained about drills one too many times during training. She would give _anything_ to hear that tone of voice from him again.  
  
She has nothing else to say to him and he is clearly finished talking to her for the night, so with no further course of action she can only do as he says. It makes sense to go back to the room where she'd used the shower earlier and she tries not to think about what it means that none of the bedrooms have doors to shut for privacy.  It brings the whole California new age free-space thing to a completely new level.    
  
Skye climbs into the bed and makes herself as small as possible, an old trick from living in the Orphanage when you just wanted everyone else to leave you alone. _Hands off._  
  
  
  
  
  
He doesn't sleep well. Not when he closes his eyes and can only see John as he was last, fighting until the end, pushing him to keep going. To stay safe. To stay _alive_.  
  
Ward counts backward from one hundred and when it feels like his heartbeat has resumed a normal pace, he gets out of bed and pads over to the computer. John's passwords vary from week to week but he knows the sequence and so he has no trouble logging into the secure server and pouring over the files.  
  
There is not a hell of a lot about the Rising Tide.  
  
Though their reach is pretty impressive and spans nearly every hidden bolt-hole and the smaller countries under ban, it's the sort of amorphous organization that leaves a lot of uncertainty as to who is at the top in the chain of command.  
  
He tries looking for the names that Skye had tossed out earlier and comes up empty. It is as if they are nothing more than the hacktivist group she signed on with.  
  
…Or someone with even more connections and power really wants them to appear that way.  
  
  
  
  
  
They spend five weeks at the house in Monterey.  
  
For Skye, it's like learning to hack all over again.  
  
She has to create a new identity on the web and start from the ground up. It goes against her instincts to spend such infrequent amounts of time online, but Ward is insistent on varying her times and frequency and sometimes even wakes her up in the middle of the night to get online. She tries to explain to him that the online community is a close knit bunch and they are going to want a demonstration of good faith, if not some kind of reliability from her before revealing anything they know.  
  
Ward proves to be a match for her legendary stubbornness and refuses to change his mind. He says that the mystery around her identity will drive curiosity and that sooner or later, someone will crack. Until then he keeps her busy with training and leaves her alone in the house for long periods of time while he runs out on unknown errands.  
  
She prowls around trying to find anything of consequence but the place is like a well maintained museum. There are no family pictures on the wall, nothing of identifiable value anywhere and despite a basic color palette throughout the house, no real sense of _home_ or permanence evoked.  
  
Even the toilet paper is nondescript.  
  
Ward comes home to find her doing headstands out of sheer boredom.  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
She regards him while upside-down and privately thinks that this is still not a less intimidating view. (In _any_ way. Ahem.) "I can't go online. Can't go outside. Can't train without you. What is it that you think I do all day while you're gone, again?"  
  
He has the decency to look slightly embarrassed. "Sorry." Ward shifts his weight awkwardly. "Would you like to get out of here for a bit?"  
  
"Would I —" Skye collapses her limbs and sits up so quickly she gets a head rush. "Are you _joking_? Hell _yes_ , I would."  
  
Though she can tell from the flex of his jaw that he isn't thrilled with her dramatic response, she refuses to apologize. She's been walking on eggshells around him for weeks and this is starting to get ridiculous.  
  
"Go change into something a little," he frowns at her current ensemble of what are definitely his boxers and the henley she had never allowed him to reclaim, " _more_."  
  
She's already in her room and eagerly shucking the boxers into the hall before he has finished speaking.  
  
  
  
  
  
They find an open-air market and Skye feels like she's breathing fully for the first time in weeks. It's enough for her to be out and among other _people_ that she doesn't even mind having to step sideways to avoid getting trampled by some over-eager juice-crazed bimbos, or that she has to twice repeat her coffee order to the half-baked free love barista (who clearly believes buying fair trade is more than a financial commitment for the Western World and has to be reminded several times to ring her up in full).  
  
There are people here living their lives and it's such a relief to be existing among them. She had forgotten what it was like to eavesdrop on pointless conversations and was slowly remembering how much fun it was to make up stories as she people-watched from the sidelines.  
  
Everything is going really well.  
  
(Which basically guarantees that it won't last.)  
  
Skye catches yesterday's newspaper at the next stall and feels her stomach drop as she reads the headline. _Husband and wife killed by drunk driver after camping trip._  
  
It's the couple who had driven them to Sacramento.  
  
Nothing is a coincidence. Not anymore. Skye gropes blindly for Ward but he's left her to scout out some produce and she feels like she can't breathe. Everything is closing in around her and she thinks about the way Fitz had looked just before the bullets ripped into his chest and the joyful smile that had been on Simmons' face as she'd entered the lab. How their sudden and unnecessary death had been the only thing that had warned her in time to duck back into the corridor and ultimately saved her life.  
  
She's distantly aware of a commotion around her and that this is probably the complete opposite of Ward's instructions to keep a low profile but —  
  
Shots are fired loudly and it snaps her out of the panic. Her eyes swim with unshed tears and it takes a few seconds to realize Ward is standing in front of her with something like panic on his face. (But that can't be right, because Ward _never_ panics.)  
  
He grabs her hand in a vice grip and bodily drags her away because her limbs just won't cooperate. Somehow she can only see the people falling down with bright red splashes of color across their clothes and then she's too busy throwing up to make sense of it.  
  
  
  
  
  
When she comes back around, they are in a car she's never seen before. There is a horrible explosion in the distance. Ward grits his teeth and presses down harder on the accelerator.  
  
They don't talk about the tremendous smoke plume in the rearview mirror, billowing upward from where the house used to be. They just _go_.  
  
  
  
  
  
They're in a nondescript hotel room where the walls are discolored and the bathroom reeks of things better left unmentioned.  
  
"How do you do it?"  
  
The lifeless tone to her voice has Ward snapping to attention. "Skye?"  
  
"All the people… dead. How do you live with it?"  
  
And this isn't just about the ones who had died in the market today. It's about John and Fitz and Simmons and everyone else who had gotten in the way and been in the right place at the wrong time.  
  
"You just _do_." When she makes a rude sound of disbelief at his blunt answer, he comes over to grip her shoulders firmly. Ward bites his lip and ducks his head, and if she were more aware she'd know that whatever he's about to say is going to cost him. "You're alive for a reason, Skye. Don't waste it."  
  
Ward doesn't tell her that it gets easier. He doesn't tell her that it's a burden that goes away. He actually makes it _harder_ , because he puts a weight on her already bowed shoulders. He dares to give her an order, at this moment, arguably the most vulnerable she's ever been. It _burns_.  
  
She feels the fire come roaring into her veins and takes a wild swing at him.  
  
Whether he sees it coming — because she still telegraphs her movements like a badly choreographed dance routine — or the universe simply gives her a win, the punch lands squarely on his jaw and knocks him back a step.  
  
Skye balls up her fists and just stands there, _shaking_ with fury. She wants to scream in his face about everything; nothing has gone right and she has had to watch more people die because of _her_ than anyone should and it's wrong, _it's so wrong_ and she just feels like she's being buried alive under the weight of all this grief until she suddenly bursts into tears.  
  
The horror that runs across Ward's face is almost comical before he shakes it off and guides her to the bed, sitting down beside her.  
  
"I _hate_ this."  
  
(They don't talk about how messed up everything has gotten. How the lines are so far blurred that nothing makes sense anymore. And right now they've become just another two broken people in a hotel room.)  
  
"I know," he sighs, reluctantly pulling her into his arms.  
  
Skye goes willingly, and even reaches an apologetic hand up to the swelling on the side of his face. "Sorry."  
  
"In your defense, I probably deserved it."  
  
"Well," she presses the back of her hand to her forehead, trying to relieve the pressure. Feels like there is an angry marching band doing their best impression of a parade routine inside.  "You were being kind of an ass."  
  
"I'm a survivor," Ward doesn't mask the rueful apology and she can see the sadness usually kept at bay straining at the corner of his eyes. "Sometimes you have to make hard choices."  
  
"Because there's no one else to make them for you," Skye quietly acknowledges in her own backwards way that she understands how difficult it has been for him ever since they left the Bus behind and then kept running when Garrett died. Slowly but surely she is beginning to understand what makes Ward tick — a feat that wouldn't be remotely possible if he didn't let her see him in the first place.  
  
(Ward constructs his sandwiches with the precision of a cardiothoracic surgeon. He has a carefully balanced ratio of meat to toppings and never deviates from this pattern. He takes his coffee with just a hint of cream and always manages to keep a half inch from the top to prevent accidental spillage. He wakes up at 4:30 every morning and works out for two hours — which isn't that much of a difference between his routine on the Bus — except he disappears into the gym and keeps the door locked. There are shadows in his eyes when he comes back to her.)  
  
There is a charged awareness that flickers between them but she is too tired to analyze it now. She yawns hugely and Ward fondly rolls his eyes. "Get some rest." His voice is gruff but not unkind. Skye nods sleepily and intends to do just that.  
  
He stands sentry by the window and keeps one hand on his gun, eyes trained on the door.  
  
And when she falls asleep, she does so with an extremely vivid image of his shocked and broken gaze seared into her mind.  
  
  
  
  
  
Skye knows that Ward doesn't like being holed up in the room anymore than she does but is not about to say anything after their last outing had ended so spectacularly. Still, there's only so much reality TV she can handle before admitting that she needs some decent _conversation_.  
  
"What was he like?"  
  
Ward goes unnaturally still. (She's praying this wasn't a horrible mistake.)  
  
After a long drawn out pause, he slowly replies: "John was… larger than life. He took me in when I was a teenager. You know things weren't —" he inhales sharply, eyes distant and unfocused as he seemingly relives something from long ago, "— _great_ , at home."  
  
"So he raised you?"  
  
He moves his shoulders restlessly and it is obvious that he doesn't enjoy the topic of conversation. "In every way that mattered."  
  
She feels her heart break all over again for this incredibly complicated man and the loss of the only real father he'd ever had. Without giving it a second thought, Skye moves into his personal space and throws her arms around him. "I'm sorry. You must miss him so much."  
  
Ward gingerly brings his arms back around her, and the automatic protest dies on his lips.  
  
(There is no one else around and Skye is the only person he's really been around for months now.)  
  
"I do," Ward quietly admits. "I really do."  
  
Skye burrows more tightly against him, trying to offer whatever comfort she can. Then she does some calculating and bets that he hasn't slept in far too long. "Hey." She draws back to look him in the eye.  
  
Ward looks dazed and sleepy and heartbreakingly young. "Yeah?" He's almost slurring his words.  
  
She wonders when the last time was that someone took the weight from Ward's shoulders and let him rest — and knows that he viewed Garrett as the only one capable of handling that burden.  
  
Not anymore. It's high time she started pulling her weight.  
  
"It's your turn," Skye states firmly, pointing to the bed. When he looks like he is about to argue with her, she lifts her brows high. "Or would you like me to punch you again?"  
  
The humor dissolves the dreamy, sad feeling that has permeated the room and Ward nods slowly. "Okay."  
  
He's out in minutes.  
  
Skye feels the curious weight of _survival_ resting on her shoulders and spends the rest of the afternoon deciding how she feels about it. (She isn't going to give up. Not on him, and certainly not on this life — such as it is.)  
  
( _Don't waste it._ )  
  
  
  
  
  
Ward looks much better after his nap (if you can call a six hour period of time where one is dead to the world a _nap_ ) and suggests going across the street to the diner to grab a late lunch.  
  
"I think I would like pie." Skye is so grateful to be outside that she's practically twirling her way down the sidewalk.  
  
"What kind of pie?" Ward sounds intrigued as he holds the door for her, gesturing for her to take the booth closest to the exit and near the window. She doesn't even comment on his paranoid tendencies and tries to squash the fond rush of feelings that creep up as she is forced to acknowledge that she was already heading for the exact booth because she knew it would be the one he preferred.  
  
(This knowledge they have been acquiring on each other, it's a dangerous commodity.)  
  
Skye searches until she finds the list of baked offerings for the day and decides, "Blueberry. Maybe ala mode."  
  
"And will that be your meal?" Ward is not going to come out and comment on her poor nutritional choices, but he'll do everything possible to come just shy of it.  
  
Skye watches the waitress carry three huge plates of meatloaf, fried chicken and a towering pile of what has to be the special of the day. She is practically salivating.  
  
"No, I'm getting fried chicken," and she knows exactly how to get Ward involved in this, to keep that lightness in his eyes. She's going to treat it as a training exercise. "But that's only because this is like a mission. We're undercover."  
  
"I see." The chocolate brown of his eyes warms in amusement. "And what am I going to get?"  
  
"Well," she rubs her hands together, clearly warming to the topic. "As my impatient boyfriend who is _highly_ concerned with staying fit, you'll go for the grilled chicken and steamed vegetables."  
  
"Sounds boring," he frowns in disappointment. "Other than the boyfriend part."  
  
Skye wants to laugh because that _spark_ from the night before is back in full force, and this time she's not too tired to see what it will generate. "It would be, except you're totally going to steal my food when you think I'm not looking."  
  
"Okay," Ward agrees, leaning back into the booth and his eyes go soft. "I like this cover."  
  
"I thought you might," Skye smiles fondly, then is forced to get the sappy look off her face when the server comes over to take their order.  
  
Ward snickers under his breath and she kicks out blindly, smiling serenely when he finally winces in pain.  
  
  
  
  
He holds the door for a little gray haired couple and the old man beams his thanks. "What a lovely wife you have," he says.  
  
Ward is speechless.  
  
Skye laughs into the awkward silence and threads her arm through his. "They say that about all of his wives but I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who has that affect on him," she winks at the couple cheekily. They have a slightly frozen look of horror of their faces that doesn't fade as they scurry off into the parking lot to find their car and probably escape.  
  
She doesn't even attempt to stifle the hysterical laughter that erupts.  
  
  
  
  
  
They get back to the hotel room in one piece and she can't wipe the distracted smile off her face.  
  
It had felt _good_ to be around people again, to eat something other than fast food or something purchased out of a vending machine. To know that they could go out in public and it didn't have to turn into a massacre. In fact, she's almost beginning to think that there could be an end to all of this.  
  
"Good job back there." When Skye just stares at him, gaping, he rushes on, "You're always thinking on your feet. It's impressive."  
  
"Did you just…" She rears back incredulously, obviously struggling to process what is happening. "Give me a _compliment_?"  
  
"No. That was a comment."  
  
"A _kind_ one. Did it physically hurt you to do that? Do you need an ice pack?" Skye is grinning so obnoxiously he can't help the answering smile on his face.  
  
He glares at her half-heartedly but Skye is too busy crowing with delighted victory. " _Wow_. A compliment _and_ a smile."  
  
Ward looks like he is about to level her smartass remark with something equally cutting but his attention is caught by the bulletin posted on the news. There is a wanted poster with their faces on it, claiming that they are enemies of the CIA.  
  
Skye makes a noise of outrage. "That has to be the worst picture of me in _existence_ and they're airing it on national television!" At his thoroughly unamused glare, she amends, "But this is terrible. You know, for our secret plans of hiding out and stuff."  
  
He sighs so loudly it is borderline dramatic.  
  
"And things were going so well," she says mournfully, kicking absently at the bed.  
  
"We have to —"  
  
"— _Go_ ," She finishes. "I know."  
  
  
  
  
  
They make it out of the hotel with minimal fuss but aren't prepared to encounter border patrol.  
  
Ward seems a bit shell shocked that SHIELD had been able to organize their teams so quickly and has to make the kind of hard decisions that have them abandoning their car and blending in at local campsites and hunting lodges. It harkens back to the beginning of their journey and Skye knows that she isn't the only one unsettled by the feeling of quicksand beneath their feet. It seems like every time they take a step forward, they get sucked back in and have to claw their way back to the surface all over again.  
  
It shouldn't be _this_ difficult to find out who is after them and someone they can trust to help get their name cleared.  
  
Skye takes a curious glance around the abandoned hunting post they've managed to secure and thinks that the decor leaves a little something to be desired. _Taxidermy chic_ is so not her jam.  
  
While she's been caught up in her thoughts, he has been bizarrely silent — not typical for Ward, as he likes to run through different scenarios with her and make sure she is constantly prepared for changing plans when things start to go south. (Skye sometimes thinks he could give the rumored Black Widow a run for her money.)  
  
"Ward."  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"What's wrong? Talk to me."  
  
He shifts automatically to give her more room on the compact sofa (the only halfway decent looking piece of furniture in the place), and distractedly begins running a hand through her hair. "Those agents we ran into earlier. It's probably nothing, but —"  
  
"— but what?"  
  
"They had guns. Real bullets, not Icers. To scramble together a team that quickly means it would be largely comprised of lower-ranking agents. There's no reason why a Level Three SHIELD team would carry lethal force — even if they had orders to take us in. Just seems off somehow."  
  
(Seems to be the ever popular refrain of their life for the past few months.)  
  
Skye doesn't know what to tell him besides wanting desperately to access a computer with a wireless connection and she knows that isn't something they can do right now. The moment they shared at the diner and afterward with the older couple seems lightyears away now.  
  
Just before he gets up, Ward absently kisses her forehead and murmurs for her to rest. She knows he isn't even aware of the tiny display of affection because he continues prowling around the cabin restlessly, as if it holds the answers he so desperately seeks.  
  
Skye can't hold back the sigh building in her lungs but when he draws his attention and she's pinned under the direct heat and force of his eyes, she is forced to amend her earlier statement. He knows _exactly_ what he's doing.  
  
But he's got that alertness to him that lets her know he's on the beginnings of a new line of thought and she knows that now is not the right time for them. So in an uncharacteristic action, she yields. She curls up underneath the blanket and closes her eyes.  
  
Ward will keep watch.  
  
And in the morning, they'll have a plan.  
  
  
  
  
  
It turns out that morning comes far sooner than Skye had hoped. It's still dark outside when Ward gently squeezes her shoulder and nods pointedly at the door. She packs up her bag without protest and follows him outside into the bracing cold where there is a Jeep running with its headlights off.  
  
Ward takes her bag and tosses it in the backseat and she climbs into the car. He sets a careful course down the trail and Skye doesn't trust herself to speak, wanting him to be able to focus on the dark road and the twisting way it curls around and over the  
  
"You're not worried that someone will find out where we stayed?"  
  
He keeps his eyes on the road and his lips quirk up in the briefest hint of a smile. "Hunters are back here frequently. It isn't all that different from John's setup. They tend to keep to themselves and law enforcement gives them a pretty wide berth."  
  
"So by the time SHIELD thinks to look for us here, our tracks will have been covered ten times over."  
  
Ward nods. "You should try and get a few more hours' sleep. It's going to be a while before we stop again."  
  
Skye thinks about the time when she would have pestered him for details, badgered him to know the plan and what was happening next. Now she realizes that there isn't anyone in the world she trusts more to keep her safe. Even though she has steadily developed her awareness and has proven her worth by helping Ward out, he'll always take point. He will always protect her.  
  
Maybe it's time she started doing the same.  
  
She very deliberately kisses his cheek and falls back asleep thinking of sacrifices and promises.  
  
  
  
  
  
When they're more than halfway across the country in some sleepy little town, Skye drops the bombshell.  
  
"I need to stop looking for my parents."  
  
Ward pauses from where he is cleaning the disassembled pieces of his gun. "What?"  
  
"This whole disaster started because I _had_ to find out what SHIELD had on them. If I'd just let it go, Fitzsimmons would still be alive. And maybe John —"  
  
"— Skye." Ward is suddenly standing, very still. " _Don't_."  
  
"Why not?" She scoffs, running a hand through her hair. "We both know it's my fault."  
  
"No."  
  
"C'mon, Ward, we even agreed it was and —"  
  
"— Stop." He pulls her close and tips her chin up to make sure she can't avoid what he is about to say. "When I said that," Ward shakes his head in frustration, "I was hurt and angry. What happened to John — it was his decision to fight. He knew the risks and could have walked away at any time, or told us to leave. He _didn't_."  
  
"Because he was your _family_."  
  
"Yes." Ward nods, cups his hands around her face gently. "So are you."  
  
They've been dancing around this for weeks now, so it shouldn't come as a shock to her but the sincere look in his eyes and the reverent way he holds her still has the power to knock her over. If he wasn't holding onto her (like the anchor he has become), she would be flat on the ground.    
  
"Are you sure you want to do this right now?"  
  
( _why don't you hate me_ , is what she is really asking.)  
  
"Skye," Ward sighs, bringing his lips to her forehead in a benediction as much as relief. "There's never a _good_ time to start something like this."  
  
( _i could never hate you_ is what he reassures her and he does so by way of frantic hands and eyes that gleam like whiskey smoke and reverent sighs painting her as the center of his world.)  
  
And maybe it's the wrong time but — everything she thought she was fighting for has been ripped away from her. She still feels like she's being sucked underwater and kicking her way to the top. The only thing — the _only thing_ — that makes sense right now is Ward.  
  
He's the only constant in her life.  
  
So she can deny him many things — but she cannot deny him _this_.  
  
Not when she wants him too.  
  
  
  
  
  
Everything changes after that.  
  
It is as if the final barrier had fallen away.  
  
In sheets warmed by their skin and stolen kisses that seal up the cracks hidden inside, Ward tells her about the plan; the _final_ plan, the one that will get them back on the grid so that they can stop living on the run.  
  
They need to break into a SHIELD base and figure out where the orders are coming from. Between his Level Seven clearance and her ability to hack her way into any piece of intel worth having, they'll be able to acquire the kind of leverage needed to put their would-be executioner in the kind of crosshairs that aren't entirely comfortable. After that they might even be able get in touch with Coulson and May. (Running would be a hell of a lot easier if they had a jet at their disposal.)  
  
She helps him piece together the smaller details and throws out variables the way other lovers slide a leg or arm around their partner and hold on. She watches how his eyes warm in appreciation and soften with the kind of affection that takes her breath away.  
  
They stay there in between sheets and learning the map of each other until it feels like they might actually have a crack at being normal, at making this work, once everything is over.  
  
They stay there until they are ready to go.  
  
  
  
  
  
The SHIELD base is somewhere in the middle of upstate Connecticut and looks like anything but. Ward says they call it the _Neighborhood_ and judging by the neatly maintained cul-de-sac and trio of homes lined up, it isn't hard to see why. It's one of the smaller bases SHIELD has — and therefore, much more remote — so it shouldn't be hard to break in and get the information they need.  
  
Still they decide to wait until nightfall because old habits die hard and Ward insists on getting a feel for the comings and goings of the agents inside. It is another six days before he feels they are reasonably able to storm the castle (her words, obviously) and he runs her through the plan until her eyes start to cross.  
  
"Got it. I'm just a lookout. You're doing all the heavy lifting."  
  
"Your job is very important, Skye." Ward tucks the extra gun at the small of his back. "I can't go in alone without eyes on the perimeter."  
  
"You shouldn't be going in alone at _all_ ," she mutters, extremely unhappy with this leg of the plan. "It's suicide."  
  
"Not if I don't die," he tosses back a lopsided grin, looking far too amused for someone about to go in and face down god only knew what.  
  
"I don't know why you're so happy," Skye says, tapping her foot in frustration. " _I'm_ not happy about it."  
  
Ward makes a concerted effort to school his features into line. "Hey. After this, we're _done_. You can start looking for your parents again. I'll get the intel so that we can make appropriate contact with a few higher ups and get this entire mess swept away."  
  
"Right," Skye says, and she definitely does _not_ tell him that she has a bad feeling about this.  
  
  
  
  
  
Of course she doesn't wait outside once the bullets have stopped.  
  
There were only a few shots fired and the whole reason they went in when they did is because the base only had a skeleton crew left. She isn't leaving Ward alone in there. _No man left behind_. It's easy enough to follow the path of dead bodies (another thought she never imagined getting used to) left in his wake until she literally runs into him around the corner.  
  
Ward reacts instinctively, trapping his forearm against her throat, whirling around and backing her into the wall.  
  
"— 's me!" She gasps, forcing herself to remain passive like she had all those months ago when he'd gotten the drop on her in training. "Ward, _it's me_." Their frantic movement has jostled a desk, switching on a projector that lazily hums to life.  
  
Ward lowers his arm with a glare and clenched jaw. "What are you _doing_ here? You're supposed to be standing guard outside."  
  
"I was, but —" Skye catches sight of something over his shoulder and her mouth drops open. "— Oh my _god_."  
  
Projected faintly on the wall in bright red is the unmistakable multi-limbed figurehead of the enemy.  
  
Surprise is not something that happens often to Grant Ward, but this is one variable he hadn't seen coming. He can't help but gape at the scene.  
  
"Hail Hydra," Skye mutters sarcastically.  
  
It does the trick of shattering the moment.  
  
Ward brings a hand up to rub at the corner of his eye. (It's so wrong that this is sparking the appearance of the girl he knew before everything went FUBAR on the Bus and yet also somehow vaguely reassuring.) "This is not good."  
  
The pieces that they have been missing since the beginning slot into place.  
  
Everything has just gotten about _ten thousand_ times more complicated.  
  
  
  
  
  
They make it back to the safe house without incident and fall into bed with the kind of _oh my god we're in so far over our heads and we're all we've got_ sex that breaks records.  
  
It is easier than it should be to lay there in an easy sprawl of limbs and pretend like the outside world doesn't exist.  
  
That isn't really their style though and Skye knows that Ward is already cycling through their move. If she lets it, the crushing weight of today's discovery will sink them both under with defeat. She has to find a way to lighten the moment. Because that is how it works; he's the head and she's the heart. (This is a partnership that defies the odds.)  
  
"I know someone who's fought Hydra before."  
  
Skye can feel the rumble of suppressed laughter build within his chest and would be more annoyed by it if she wasn't so comfortable right now. It seems wickedly indecent that they are able to have this small moment of peace when everything else is literally ripping apart at the seams.  
  
"You want to approach Captain America with this." Ward is not even trying to keep the amusement from his tone.  
  
"Got any better ideas?"  
  
The shadows lengthen and grow as he declines to answer. Skye doesn't attempt to fill the silence because she knows the value of letting Ward process the information and evaluate the best possible course of action.  
  
They've pretty much burned every SHIELD bridge they have at the moment, and hadn't been able to check in with Coulson and May. Of course they feared that doing so would have put them directly in jeopardy — if they were even still alive at this point — and Ward told her that there were probably pictures of their faces plastered across every Shield base in the country. It was pretty much guaranteed that they had been labeled as traitors and deserters and it was unclear how deep Hydra's roots had sunk.    
  
She's just about dozed off when he comes back to her, shaking his head softly.  
  
"New York, here we come."  
  
Skye has just enough energy to lever upwards and kiss him before drifting off to sleep.  
  
  
  
  
  
They camp outside Avengers Tower even though it is probably the worst place for two people who are supposed to be keeping a low profile. (Ward had argued that if they were seen, it was unlikely Hydra would allow them to live. Skye retorted that a shooting outside Tony Stark's front door was slim to none and also, a really great way to engage Captain America's sense of justice.)  
  
Steve Rogers finally makes an appearance just before lunch and Skye neatly evades Ward's outstretched arm to put herself into his path.  
  
"Sorry," Steve says politely, sidestepping her to continue on his way. ( _God_ , he's even more super-soldiery than she'd imagined — and she had imagined a great deal.)  
  
"Wait. _Please_." Skye hates the way her voice catches but she's _so tired_ of running and desperately wants someone else to help them in this fight. Now that they're finally here, all the running and planning and hiding has caught up to her like a freight train and it is all she can do to keep the tears at bay.  
  
"Miss," Steve looks alarmed. "Is there someone I can get for you or —"  
  
"We need your help," Ward steps beside her, putting an arm around her shoulders.  
  
Skye takes a deep, calming breath and feels slightly better for it. "Everyone we know is trying to kill us."  
 

**Author's Note:**

> \+ holy s#*% you made it to the end! JOHN GARRETT GOLD STAR FOR YOU. 
> 
> \+ [tumblr](http://b-isforbombshell.tumblr.com)
> 
> \+ my eternal gratitude goes to lizicia for reading this BEHEMOTH and proofing it with the patience and care _that i did not possess_ and making sure it had no glaring typos and that it actually made sense. i cannot thank you enough.


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